Ambiguity
by b-mystique
Summary: Some people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Somedays Jessica doesn't know which applies to Harvey.


**A/N:** _This is my first time trying my hand at SUITS. I absolutely adore the wit and charm of the show and practically all of the characters! Jessica and Harvey's undefinable relationship is so intriguing to me. (I can't figure them out at all!) Outside of the Mike/Harvey bromance, it's my favorite relationship. There aren't many Harvey and Jessica fics or plain Jessica fics for that matter so I went against my better judgment and attempted to write my own. I'd love to know what anyone thinks! Any reviews good or bad would be helpful. : )_

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own Suits. Honestly if I did, I'd have a difficult time sharing Harvey. Sorry, I'm being honest!: ) Unbetaed so all errors are my own._

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><p><em><strong>Some people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.<strong>_

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><p>This had to be hell.<p>

She rolled over in the King sized bed, her limbs entangled in soft sheets as she tried desperately to avoid the piercing brightness of the sun slipping through the full-length glass windows. It was to no avail that she escaped it's intensity. She forced her eyes open a crack and let out a low groan that only intensified the dull throbbing in her temples. Why the _hell_ was it so bright in there? She cradled her head in both hands for a brief second before she made the painstaking decision to rise from the bed...whomever's bed. _Whose_ bed was she in? She pondered as her sluggish brain tried to recollect the happenings of the previous night.

A bare foot met the hardwood floor as she carefully extricated her other leg from the tangled sheets trying their hardest to entrap her. She was finally successful after a few tugs and an inelegant stumble that did nothing to quell the Mariachi band playing in her head or uphold the grace and poise she was known for. Bleary eyes appraised the room and a soft snort escaped her lips before she rubbed her temple again and sighed.

The funeral. Drinks. The warm shower she took in a foreign bathroom before passing out in an even more foreign bed.

She smoothed clammy hands over the borrowed white button-down that fell mid-thigh and fought off a smirk as she trampled over his grossly expensive suit jacket and made her way out of the bedroom and towards the loft. She needed coffee. She needed _a lot _of coffee.

She had never been in his apartment before. Not that he hadn't invited her on many of occasions. She always declined or rerouted them to somewhere else. Somewhere that she wouldn't let her guard slip down. He had that effect on her. As she staggered out of the bedroom and took in the view that a $1.2 million penthouse had to offer, her fears were affirmed. A step into Harvey's apartment would remind her of just how far he'd come. Far from the equally as cocky, though less of a reason to be, mail-boy that delivered her mail with a smug grin and rattled her to her core with piercing eyes. The arrogant bastard who came from humble beginnings; a shoe-box apartment outside the Bronx filled with an emptiness possessed only by those who couldn't even afford to hope, and living off of Chinese-take out and cheap Scotch. She knew that the moment she stepped into his apartment, she would be hit with an overwhelming feeling that she would be incapable of hiding from anyone, especially him. _Pride_. A small smile spread across her lips before she had the right mind to wave it off with a shake of her head that sent the room spinning.

She stopped abruptly, grabbing the arm of the nearby sofa to steady herself. She squeezed her eyes shut, slowly exhaling in an effort to assuage the pounding in her head. Brown, tired eyes opened again and her lips twitched with a fondness that she couldn't shake as she squinted at the lumpy form inhabiting the couch. A bare leg slung off the side, an arm resting over his torso, his head buried in the corner of the couch.

_Harvey_.

When he slept all of the sharp edges and hard exterior melted away. When he slept, he was more at peace then she ever suspected he was while in the land of the conscious. With his hair disheveled and his permanent smirk etched on his face she seen the vulnerable Harvey. The Harvey she knew thirteen years prior, who was a lost boy only barely managing to mask his soft side with sarcastic quips and faux confidence and bravado. He's mastered masking it now and she tries to ignore the small ping of guilt and pain that she felt when she thought of how well he's gotten at shutting people out. The Harvey back then was a bit more rougher around the edges...wild, and reckless and blissfully ignorant in the way that only young people are. He was less refined then, before $2000 suits, and million dollar homes, and rich coffee beans imported from Chile. Before he learned how to successfully weave his way into the high-class world that he had been on the outskirts of for so long. Before he became..._her_. She gingerly brushed his hair aside, whether the gesture was out of nostalgia, an apology, or just the need to pull herself back into the present she wasn't certain. He stirred, and a small part of her knew that he was more awake then he appeared. She cleared her throat self consciously and padded towards the kitchenette. All she knew was that she needed...

_Coffee._

She rummaged through the cabinets, dark curses escaping her lips as she covered the mass of the cabinet space before standing in the tiny kitchen perplexed.

"Is that my _Armani_?" Harvey's slightly incredulous inquiry from the kitchen entrance startled her and she bristled before shooting him an icy glare. He padded towards her in his white t-shirt and pajama pants and stood beside her giving her a once over, his customary smirk gracing his lips as he eyed the nest of hair standing up on her head. He chuckled. "It looks good on you."

She squinted her eyes at the shirt she was wearing and scowled, "I pay you too much."

He snorted a response.

"Stop." She sighed as she rubbed her forehead and stared at the cabinets.

"Stop what?" He smiled at her, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Complimenting you?"

"No. Breathing."

His low chuckles turned into full blown laughter and if her head wasn't throbbing so much she probably would have joined him, if only to mock him. "I take it last night caught up to you. One too many Scotches."

"The Scotch was fine. The Whiskey and Bourbon may have been a bad idea."

"I thought Harvard girls could hold their liquor," he fired back.

She glared at him again and he gave her one of his mocking smiles and she knew right then and there, that he wouldn't make her morning easy. She didn't know how he managed to be firing off on all wheels so early in the morning when he should be hungover too. She sensed however, that he had every intention of being just as difficult as he was any other day. She knew what he was doing. She knew that_ he _knew what he was doing. She also knew _why_ he was doing it, and even though he wouldn't admit it out loud, or even to himself, _he_ knew why he was doing it too. She lost her husband...ex-husband, and even though she and he were no longer in love with one another, she realized while staring at his coffin with Harvey by her side and the woman he left her for two rows ahead, that it didn't hurt any less losing him.

"We can," she responded sharply."Coffee. Now."

"Someone's grumpy in the mornings," he muttered under his breath as he shuffled to the refrigerator and retrieved the coffee beans. "I thought puppies only fetched coffee?" he asked as he went to work getting the coffee maker going before turning around to face her. Arms folded across his chest, cocksure smile pulling at his lips, his back resting against the counter-top.

She raised a carefully arched brow at him. "Who do you think the puppy is between the two of us?"

"Touché."

A comfortable silence fell over them as the only noise filling the air was that of the percolator. They always had moments like that. Moments where they didn't need words to fill the voids between them. It was a mutual understanding and appreciation between them. That of silence. He studied her with that intense faraway gaze that she couldn't ever quite understand. She stared back at him with assessing eyes all wistful and disarming.

He's still a puppy.

Sure he didn't bounce at the heels of her feet like he used to or do any of her grunt work. He had his own "puppies" for that now. He did, however, still have a bark far worst then his bite. He still flanked at her heels when he wasn't standing at her side. He was still fiercely loyal to her in a way that she found breathtaking and overwhelming all at once because he trusted her. He _trusts _her, and anyone who knew Harvey Specter well, which was her and...well, _her_, knew that Harvey didn't trust anyone easily. Only a small circle consisting of her, his own protégé, his secretary and his driver, but the others didn't know him quite like she did so somehow he trusted her more. And the weight of that trust was monumental. He was still soft and caring deep down even though he was reluctant to admit so and it required a little more digging then it use to. He still gazed at her with admiration and respect, clouded over with something else that she didn't quite know, or perhaps she didn't_ want_ to know. It's cloudier now. It's muddied over the years as he gained a semblance of control over just what and how much of anything Harvey Specter is thinking or feeling, he shares with others. But it's still there.

She broke eye contact first, and she can sense rather then see the satisfied grin of triumph on his face. She wanted to smile back or even make a sarcastic comment or two, because he _never_ won over her in a stare-off. He would expect that...he would expect both, actually, and it would certainly keep them at their normal pace, with their familiar banter but she couldn't bring herself to do it. His eyes flickered down to the ring finger of her left hand that she absentmindedly rubbed at, and briefly, so fast that she very well could have imagined it altogether, she noticed his dark orbs soften with a touch of concern.

"Hey..." he started, with the soft voice that he only used with her on rare occasions. He pushed himself from the counter-top and started towards her but she shook her head and forced a half smile. He gave her a short nod in return and she slipped off the stool she had been sitting on and away from his intense stare, into the bathroom where she had abandoned her clothes the night before.

She figured she'd help him_ help her_, so after a splash of water on her face and a quick brush of her teeth, she eased out of his Armani shirt and left it in a heap on the floor. He would flip and she would smile. He hated things out of place, his hair, his suits, his tie, all carefully arranged and in place. Because he couldn't always control everything in his life but he most certainly could control that. She wiggled into her black dress and shuffled back into the kitchen seconds later. He hadn't moved an inch, and she wondered just how_ long_ it would take the bastard to make a decent cup of coffee. She walked right up to him with her head high and arched her brow in that superior way of hers and gave him a small smirk of her own, before turning her back to him and shooting an expectant glance over her shoulder.

She felt him relax a bit. All traces of concern vanished as his warm, nimble fingers swept her hair aside and ghosted across her spine as he zipped her up. "Seriously, how do you zip these things on your own?"

"Who says I zip them on my own."

"You've been holding out on me? Do tell!" His voice light with amusement and a hint of a challenge.

"You'll never know," she teased lightly.

His voice took on a more serious tone. "How come you never told me you were married?"

She turned to face him, scanning his face for an indication of what he was thinking. She never quite could figure it out though. His face was pensive and thoughtful as his eyes met hers. She canted her head to the side and offered up a response,"I didn't think it...mattered."

He shrugged, his brow furrowing and a slight crease etching in his forehead before turning his back to her and pulling out two coffee mugs. "I guess it didn't." He filled a mug carefully and set it in front of her. "Black. Best for your current state that is a disgrace to Harvard Alumni everywhere," he deadpanned.

She was all prepared to fire back at him with a witty remark of her own, but the hot liquid she was sipping at burned her tongue and he spoke before she could.

"I'm sorry he hurt you," he said in a low voice.

His jaw clenched in his way of suppressed anger, his nostrils flared a tad and his chin jutted out and when she looked into his dark eyes she seen something familiar. He was protective. He's protective of her and she knew that look so very well because she taught it to him...because she was protective of him too. It's the look that briefly flashed through his eyes whenever Louis played too fast and loose and her reputation...her firm...or just plain _her_ was at stake. It's the look he got when the other associates took the hazing of his 'pet' just a _little_ too far, or when Ray's pay was docked when he was running a bit too late, or when his secretary came in all sullen and quiet and didn't bust his chops or smile. And she gave him a knowing look, because she knew that, despite whatever he deluded himself into believing that look confirmed that he truly did-

"And I'm sorry he's dead." He finished up his statement and he turned his back to her again just long enough to grab the pot and refill her coffee cup. He watched the liquid fill up the cup and she watched him. He must have felt her intense gaze on the side of his face because his mouth pulled up on one side in a lopsided grin and his voice took on a conspiratorial tone as he leaned against the kitchen island and pushed the mug towards her, "You should enjoy this while it lasts. Harvey Specter doesn't serve others."

She snorted softly and he chuckled lowly. She considered telling him that only jackasses refer to themselves in third person but instead she reaches across the island top and takes his hand in hers. He was caught off guard, his eyes widened just a bit in surprise and he froze for a half a second before relaxing, but he didn't pull his hand away. 'Thank you' is what she wanted to say but the words don't seem to come out so she squeezed his hand before releasing it and rising from her perch on the stool, coffee mug in hand. She spotted her shoes...and she sidled over to them.

He must have been at the heels of her feet because right before she turned around she heard him say."You do realize that now you have to do that whole 'walk of shame' thing, right?"

He had that arrogant smirk on his face when she turned to face him. He gave her dress the once over and his eyes were dancing with amusement again. As if he would be humored by her ever being humiliated.

She gave a slight shake of her head and narrowed her eyes at him before responding. "I'm the boss. If anyone notices they'd hardly have the balls to comment."

"That's only because you're bitchy in the mornings. Especially when hungover."

She glared at him and barely managed to suppress a smile because even when he was being impossible he always made her smile and he knew it, and used it whenever he could and she_ hated_ that, but she loved it too. She noted that he had won. He had easily segue-wayed them back into the easy and familiar bantering that they did so well. He edged her into normalcy and she thought that maybe, just maybe today wouldn't be nearly as difficult as she thought. Not in the emotional tolling way at least.

"Thank you." She said simply, and she took a bit of joy at how those mere two words caught him off guard. That was twice today that she'd done just that, and she reveled in the fact that she was still a formidable opponent for him after all. She went for a third by leaning in slowly and brushing her lips against his cheek lightly. She thought she heard him stop breathing.

"You're welcome." His voice wasn't as cocky or playful as usual, in fact it was a bit shaky, his hands were shoved in the pockets of his sleep-pants, his head was leaned to the side, and his lips were pursed, and he makes a face that she just can't read. She guessed that he was trying to figure her out, but he gave up quickly or perhaps hid it better. He shrugged. "It's only because clients are more compliant when you aren't staring them down all sad-eyed and mopey..." his voice trailed off and she could tell that he was just a bit worried that he spoke too soon or cut a bit too deep.

She rolled her eyes. "Riight, because you aren't my friend...and you don't care. Hey, I suppose you don't .." she paused for a moment and placed a hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she eased her feet into her pumps. "...look up to me either," she finished sarcastically, as she towered over him a couple of inches with the advantage her heels gave her.

His face was back to being inscrutable for a while but shortly after he cleared his throat and flashed her a half grin, "No. None of that."

They stared at each other a little bit longer and this time he was the first to avert his eyes and she suspected that he did it for her benefit. She snorted to herself and brought the bitter coffee to her lips and his eyes were back on her again with that intense fire blazing behind his pupils. "This coffee sucks." She let out an exasperated sigh and shoved the half-full mug into his hands. She grabbed her coat off the back of the stool and headed for the door. "Don't be late!" She called over her shoulder.

"I do care." Harvey whispered softly before shaking his head and bringing her mug to his lips. "Ugh, this does suck." If she heard him and chuckled to herself as the door closed behind her, she would never admit it.

She never knew for sure what they were. There was a time way back when...where she took one look at him and realized that he would be worth taking a caculated risk on. When she signed a check with the flick of her hand and gave a complete stranger her hard earned money with the possibility of regretting it but a blind faith that she wouldn't. Back then, when she molded him into all she wanted and needed him to be and she taught him everything she knew. Back then, when she considered him her protégé. A pet project of hers, because deep down in her gut she wanted to leave a legacy and she knew...she knew that her marriage would never work out long enough for her to make one there. She still sees him as a protégé, a mentee who soaked in all that she offered him even though he would never attest to it. She seen how much he learned from her. She seen it now more then ever because he did something unexpected and somewhat flattering. He took on a protégé of his own. The mentee had become the mentor, and the words that flowed from her lips a decade before were now flowing out of his, albeit callously, but still, when he blindly guided his own 'project'.

Now she considered him a friend, and at those rare times when she admitted to herself that somewhere along the years she begin needing him for more then just his legal expertise, she allowed herself to see him as a best friend. He reminded her of what she used to be. Of _who_ she used to be. And she does the same for him, and even though it'd be easier for them both to forget...she knew the importance of remembering. He thought of her as his closest friend too. The words were never spoken and probably never would be but when he gave a short laugh at her empty threats of firing him, she knew it. Afterall, he came back to her. He always came back to her, after Harvard and short gigs with the D.A and the like he _always_ came back to her. And her?She took a chance on him. She earned his trust and his loyalty and devotion in a way that no one else ever did and had a faith in him that no one else ever had.

She still didn't know what they were...but most days she was perfectly content with that.

~~~~~~End~~~~~


End file.
